


conduit

by dustofwarfare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Kink Meme, Masturbation, Other, levin sword, magic used for sexual pleasure, weapons as sex toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: After battle, Felix spends some quality time with his favorite sword.(A fill for the kink meme!)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 101
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	conduit

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the FE3H Kink Meme, with the prompt "Felix uses his Levin sword to get off." 
> 
> Enjoy!

Felix is sitting cross-legged on his floor, patiently cleaning his weapons as he always does when they return to Garreg Mach after a battle. His silver sword is gleaming, now; the mud and viscera and blood having been patiently washed off, scrubbed clean, polished to a mirror-shine. His mud-splattered clothes are tossed in the corner, ready to be laundered. Felix is wearing clean trousers and a simple tank undershirt, and he has one last sword to clean before bed. 

It’s the trickiest one, so he always saves it for last. 

The Levin sword isn’t like the others. It’s a ranged weapon, technically, and he uses it by channeling his magic through it like a conduit. That means it shouldn’t need to be cleaned; it’s more a matter of _aiming_ , of focus, than stabbing like he’s used to. 

But battle is a messy thing; when you’re knee-deep in the thick of it, grassy fields churned into blood-soaked mud, nothing much escapes unscathed. His Levin sword pierces no flesh, but it’s still a mess of blood, mud and other things he’d rather not think about. 

Felix is careful with this sword, and has been since Professor Byleth handed it to him all solemn and serious, reminding him that the purpose of the thing was to channel reason magic and send it out as pure energy toward his foes. 

“You need a cool head in battle to wield this,” the Professor said. “Magic doesn’t want a focus, it just wants a release. You need to be the focus.” 

Felix is good at focusing, especially when it comes to swords. The first time he felt the tingle in his arm as the sword pulled at his magic, he knew what the professor meant. It would be easy to let the magic overwhelm him, spark over his skin, burn him up into ashes while it burst out in a fury of bright, incandescent light. 

He’s breathing a bit hard as he drags the cloth over the strange steel, the jagged edges. This sword has always been different. Always seemed alive, in a way none of his others have. Swords are cold things, sharp and deadly and static. 

But this one. It seems like a living thing, drawing from his own well of power, whatever that thing is in his blood that lets him call down fire and fling it at his foes. His bare toes curl as he drags the rag up and down, wiping the mud off, cleaning it. Even now the sword is calling to his magic, making him shiver, making goosebumps rise on his arms. 

This happens often, when he cleans this particular weapon post-battle. It’s why he always saves it for last. The lingering adrenaline from the fight is still there inside of him, all banked embers just waiting for kindling to make it burn. 

Felix’s fingers skirt over the strange material of it, wondering, as he always does, what it’s made of. The professor always has it repaired for him, with arcane crystals they purchase from a merchant in the corner of the marketplace. Unlike his silver sword, it’s not cool to the touch. It’s warm, almost hot. Felix’s breath catches as he strokes it, lets himself trace the curves and jagged edges. His cock hardens in his pants, but he ignores it in favor of letting just a little of his magic through, narrowing his focus so that it sinks into the blade and it seems to glow. 

It’s lying across his lap, and he can _feel_ it, even that little bit of magic seeping out and tingling over his skin even through his pants. It travels up his thighs and higher, the sweet shock making his breath catch and his cock twitch. It feels -- good. So good. 

He stands up, shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair and placing the now clean Levin sword on his bed. After making sure his other weapons are carefully sheathed and stored, he pulls off his shirt and his pants, makes sure his door is locked and then, with a huff of breath and a flush on his face at what he’s about to do, shoves his underwear to the floor. 

He takes up the hilt of the sword, lays naked on his back, and reaches up with his free hand to pull the tie from his hair. 

Then he takes up the sword, lets a little more of his magic flow into it. It burns brighter than his candle, dripping into nothing on the window ledge. He rests the flat of the jagged blade across his chest, and moans as the magic leaps from the sword. Electric sparks dance over his chest, hardening his nipples. Felix moans, shoving two fingers in his mouth and sucking, hard, to muffle the sound. 

He moves the blade up so it rests over his nipples. More magic, a little more, and he’s arching up off the bed as it shocks his nipples into full hardness. 

Felix is panting, writhing on his bed, making sounds he would rather die than have anyone hear. He drags the flat of the sword -- carefully, so carefully, it’s still a sword even if the edges aren’t meant to maim or to hurt -- lower down his chest again. The shock of magic is so good, so sharp and delicious, and his cock is fully hard now against his stomach. 

Felix draws his fingers out of his mouth. He pinches and teases his nipples, lets the sword have what it wants; it’s greedy, it wants _more_ of his magic so he gives it, lets it flood him, lets it soak into the sword and tremble out like fire over his skin. 

He’s moaning louder, hair sweaty and hanging in his face. His cock throbs, eager for him to press the flat of the blade against it; warm and electric, the pulse-shock of it will make him come so hard, he’s done it before. But he makes himself wait. 

It will be better, if he makes himself wait. 

Felix pushes more magic into the sword as he reaches down to touch himself, the blade still balanced across his chest. He learned the first time he did this that it really does work like a conduit; the magic _cackles_ and he bites his own lip as it rushes over his body, into his fingers wrapped around his cock. It would be so easy to come like this, but he wants more, tonight. It was a particularly grueling battle and he thinks he’s earned it. 

Felix pulls his hand off his cock and fumbles for the oil; he has to let go of the hilt and it breaks the circuit, making him grit his teeth against the loss of that delicious vibrating sensation. As soon as his fingers are nice and slick, he spreads his legs and slides his hand down to play with his hole, grabbing the pommel with his other hand and forcing himself to keep his focus and not channel so much magic that he ends up injured. 

That’s part of why he loves this; the control, the focus, the deadly _possibility_ that if he isn’t perfect, things could go very badly indeed. 

It isn’t easy to get in position; most of the time he just holds the sword pommel and rests it against his cock, lets the magic build and build until he comes against the sword. But tonight, he slides his fingers inside himself and starts moving them, in and out, taking his time with it. Slow at first, then gradually getting stronger, the pulses of magic coming faster and faster as he slips his fingers fully inside and starts to fuck himself. 

He moves the sword down. Just a little, so the dancing sparks of energy are almost a tickle against his aching cock. It makes him bite his lip again, fingers stalling inside himself as he gets used to the sensation of it. He wants to press that blade against his cock. He will. But not yet. 

Felix starts slowly fucking himself again, ignoring his cock and keeping the fingers of his other hand wrapped tight around the pommel. He breathes sharply through his nose, feet starting to point and his thighs shaking as he increases the flow of magic. 

_The magic to the sword, over his skin, into his fingers buried in his ass, a shockwave up through to his balls, his cock._

He inches the sword down. It’s so close he can feel the edge of the blade _just_ against the head of his cock, and his fingers curl as he finds his prostate. The battle and all its terror falls away, and magic isn’t a thing that kills anymore, _he’s_ not a thing that kills anymore; he’s still one with his blade, his sword, but bringing pleasure, not pain. 

He wants to both put the sword on his cock and increase the magic, but he knows from experience that he has to be careful or this will end too quickly. So he has to choose one, and tonight, it’s the magic. He pushes more of it from that place inside of him, the quiet dark pool where it waits for a chance to pour forth; all of it dammed up like a flood waiting to crest. Felix adds a third finger, gives himself more of that delicious, electric pleasure. 

His heels knock into the mattress, nearly dislodging the blade but he’s fast, he’s always been fast, and he grabs tight at the pommel and tenses his abdominals so he can arch up, let the conduit run into the fingers buried inside and -- ah, yes, there, _there_ , the magic is bright in the room and bright behind his eyes, and he feels the gathering shock before it pulses so strong that he cries out with it. His fingers are electric as they curl and rub over his prostate, his mouth is open, eyes squeezed shut; there is no more blood, no killing field of torn grass and dead bodies in blood-soaked mud. Just this. Just pleasure. 

Felix is on the edge, and he could -- and has -- come like this, his cock untouched, just the magic from the sword running over him, through him, inside of him. But tonight he lets himself have what he wants and when it’s so much he thinks he’s dying, toes pointed hard and calves _aching_ , trembling and shaking and utterly undone by his body, his sword, his magic -- 

He lowers the flat of the sword and rests it on his cock. 

That’s it, it’s enough to drag an orgasm so intense from him that he comes all over his stomach and the sword seconds later; he can’t breathe, he’s dizzy and lightheaded, and maybe it feels like dying but the best part is that every breath he drags into his starved lungs just makes it better. Draws out those pulses of pure pleasure until he cries out with it, shuddering hard on his bed. 

It lasts -- a second, an hour, forever, an eternity. His calves are seizing up, he’s covered in sweat, strands of his hair are in his eyes and in his open, gasping mouth. Come is cooling on his stomach. His chest is heaving. He still has his fingers inside himself, and the Levin sword is resting warm on his spent cock, sticky and once again in need of a good cleaning. 

Felix -- ever aware of his blades even in his post-orgasmic bliss -- lifts the sword with a shaking hand and gently leans it against his bed. He pulls his hand free, wipes it on the covers. Breathes in the stillness, his magic gone back where it came from, settled and quiet. 

He’ll be able to sleep, tonight. In the morning he’ll take up his sword and go train for battle, for the war they have to win. 

Tonight, he closes his eyes and breathes.


End file.
